


To Infinity and Beyond!

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe, Future Fic, Gen, Heroes & Heroines, Outer Space, Partnership, Space Stations, Spies & Secret Agents, THRUSH, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 18:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: This story takes place in the distant future where UNCLE is a defender of the Earth from alien invaders and a non-earthbound THRUSHWritten for the "What-if" writing challenge on section7mfu- live journalThe prompt:What If...UNCLE is a space age (as in Science Fiction), law enforcement entity that protects EARTH from invading aliens? What if Solo and Kuryakin are all geeked up SciFi heroes and THRUSH isn't earthbound?





	To Infinity and Beyond!

It was the fourth attempt today to break through the protective shield that surrounded Earth, this time it was drones controlled by a nefarious organization called T.H.R.U.S.H. that was based somewhere in Alpha Centauri.

Their name was chilling when the acronym was explained, ‘The Technological Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and the Subjugation of Humanity.’

It was presumed these attacks were merely tests of Earth’s new defenses and an ominous foreshadowing of something bigger yet to come.

On a space station orbiting the planet the controls for coordinating the many outposts powering the shield on Earth were monitored by the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, otherwise known as U.N.C.L.E. It was an organization that had its origins in the early twentieth century, having withstood the test of time during World War III that nearly devastated the Earth. It helped bring order and unite a once chaotic planet even more so than the United Nations of old.

It was the job of U.N.C.L.E. to ensure nothing got through the newly installed shield, either to or from Earth, without proper authorization.

They controlled the only gate that could be opened, allowing ships to come and go through it. Agents helped escort these vessels usually there for the purpose of trade, but lately ragtag vessels appeared carrying refugees, beings whose planets had been overwhelmed by T.H.R.U.S.H.

U.N.C.L.E. was an all encompassing organization that consisted of operatives not only from Earth, but a number alien species from around the galaxy who had joined the fight against the Hierarchy.

The station on which the Command existed was a small world unto itself, with multiple levels that housed personnel as well as an assortment of facilities to see to their everyday needs.

One place that was a carry over from the original days of the organization was a small tailor shop called Del Floria’s; having it there on the station was an homage to UNCLE’s past, though now it served a different purpose, seeing needs of the station’s occupants for tailoring and cleaning their clothing, and nothing more The name Del Floria’s was kept for old time’s sake, though there was no one left who remembered it in its original incarnation.

In the early the twentieth century on Earth, Del Floria's was a small, nondescript tailor shop located one flight below street level in the east forties of old New York city, serving as the clandestine entrance to what was once the North American headquarters of U.N.C.L.E.

Many non-humans who worked on the station had seen their homes fall victim to the Hierarchy as they sought to control any human and humanoid species that were technologically advanced. It was both a refuge and a defense against those would be invaders that everyone knew would someday arrive. That day seemed to be getting closer and closer.

 

The doors to the station entrance silently opened as the airlock sealed closed; two agents entered after they’d secured their speeder in the hangar deck. They walked side by side, each in step with the other; one was blond, the other dark haired and both were extremely handsome.

The blond was clothed in a form fitting high necked black jumper that clung to him like a second skin. It accentuated his slender but muscular figure, though there was a certain body part that all the females at the station would sigh when they could discern its outline beneath his clothing. To them he was an object of desire, but he was indifferent to their attentions...most of the time. Unlike his partner, he even avoided the hologram deck where one could find programs to suit the desires and fantasies of any and all.

Those females with whom he was intimate seemed to be under his spell and would say nothing to reveal what he was like. To everyone he remained a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.

They knew he enjoyed eating, sampling with a passion the foods from many worlds. He had a penchant for antique recordings on discs of vinyl called records. The music he listened to was something called jazz, though no one seemed to understand it, thinking it oddly cacaphonus. He always seemed to be reading his electronic files as he stalked the grey corridors of the station.

His looks captivated both females and males as he was fair skinned with bright blue iridescent eyes that could either charm or freeze you where you stood with one look. The tips of his slightly pointed ears peeked through his head of silken hair.

His name was Illya Kuryakin; he was half human, his father having been from Earth where what was once called Russia, and his mother was of a race called the Ursari that had existed in the Alpha Centauri quadrant.

Thanks to the forerunners of T.H.R.U.S.H. so named the ‘Krafthaus’ after their maniacal leader, Illya’s people on his mother’s side no longer existed, they were wiped out. A few pointed ear hybrids like Kuryakin still lived on, mostly on earth. He was the only one of his kind on the station.

His mother’s people like so many others had been systematically hunted and destroyed by Krafthaus’ minions as they swept across the galaxy like the hoard of monsters they were, selecting certain species for annihilation who did not meet their leader’s standards.

Krafthaus was eventually defeated and their twisted leader died a fiery death in his underground bunker on his home world of Germaniac.

Yet from the ashes of the Krafthaus rose T.H.R.U.S.H. and they were getting closer every day...

.

Illya sidled up to the female agent at the reception desk, moving sensually like a dark ocel-cat from Omicron Ceti Three.

Not fully human as well; the blue skinned receptionist greeted him in her own language, asking how the mission went and making a comment about the frequency with which the attacks were happening.

_“Ndewode Mej Kuryakin. Ịgan nke ọmag taa? O yirika hato na-eti ihe karịrị ọ bụla tan?”_

As always his replies were brief, though he spoke using her language as well. He had a gift for languages and could speak many of them; it helped when dealing with the countless species seeking safe refuge on Earth.

_“Yes they are more frequent, but everything went well.”_

His voice was dulcet, like sweet musical notes to her ears as she handed him his triangular yellow security badge. She wondered what he’d be like in bed, and sighed for just a split second at the thought of her hands running along his white skin and her mouth on his… She stopped herself before her musk glands leaked.

Kuryakin pinned his badge to his clothing and stepped aside for his partner to receive his own.

No one was permitted in the interior of the station without the specially marked ID; it had to be touched first by the fingertips of the receptionist. It was only her species who secreted a special chemical that marked each badge, making them identifiable to the Security scans throughout the large station.

If someone attempted to infiltrate U.N.C.L.E. without that treated badge, a series of alarms would sound and the unwanted visitor would be immediately surrounded by members of Section V Security who would have their laser guns set to stun when apprehending the trespasser.

If the being was violent, a quick turn of a dial would set their weapons to kill and the intruder would be evaporated in the blink of an eye.

“Hello Mister Solo,” the beautiful receptionist looked him over with her large violet eyes. She addressed him in standard Earth English as she knew he didn’t speak her language, though there was another language he spoke fluently with her only the night before.

 _“Omarịchan_ , you’re looking particularly lovely today,” he reached out and taking one of her four hands, he kissed the palm; a special greeting for his current female of choice. There were many females both human and non-human on the station who were his paramours. His sexual prowess was legendary and there seemed to be no jealousy at all among the ladies; they were all willing to share him.

She pinned his badge to Napoleon's fitted grey jumper. One thing that could be said about this human, he was always impeccable in as well as out of his clothes.

He leaned forward, giving the tip of her upturned nose a light tap with his index finger, winking as did so.

“Dinner again tonight?” He whispered, and drinks afterwards at my place? I have a five hundred year old bottle of Napoleon brandy that’s begging me to open it.”

“I can’t wait,” she sighed in anticipation. Gathering her wits about her, she remembered to deliver a message.  
  
“Oh, Mr. Waverly is waiting for you both in the Command Center.”

As she smiled her sharp as needles white teeth became visible and Napoleon wondered how she managed not to nip his ummm, delicate parts with them. She was a talented lover nonetheless and those four hands of hers definitely proved useful at pleasuring both of them. Sometimes he wished he had four hands as well...

Napoleon Solo was red-blooded, and fully human. He was born on Earth in New New York, though his mother was from Canada. His father was in the military, helping to command the defense of Earth. Colonel Darius Solo was a hard man who wanted his son to stick to the military like he had and his father before him, but his strict ways drove Napoleon away and into the welcoming arms of the U.N.C.L.E.

Unlike his partner, he was the eternal optimist,  keeping a cool and level head in any situation. Solo was one who bucked the rules, though sometimes it got him in trouble. He had his own way of doing things, and his boss Mr. Waverly tolerated them because Napoleon always got the job done...a little sideways, but done nonetheless.

He and Kuryakin were  simply the best of the best, and the most formidable team in the history of the Command.

 

They left reception, heading through the next door  and down the grey corridor towards the main hub of the station, and that was the Control and Command Center of the U.N.C.L.E.

“Must you go after every female like an animal in rut?” Kuryakin asked as they continued to walk side by side, ignoring the hustle and bustle of others moving about them.

“Rut? Hardly.There’s a skill to making love to a female humanoid, especially one with teeth like that. Besides, I can’t help it if the opposite sex is so attracted to me. It’s a gift and when you have it, you have it and I’ve got it.”

The tips of Kuryakin’s pointed ears twitched ever so slightly; only his partner had ever noticed that happen and it usually indicated the man’s exasperation. It was often accompanied by an eye roll.

“Napoleon brandy? How can you afford such a rarity.. wait,.never mind... cancel that; you can do so because you keep borrowing credits from me. May I remind you that your tab is growing.”

“And I will pay them back, eventually. Hey you never spend them anyway, you cheapskate."

"I am not cheap, I am frugal and I do not waste them on frivolous things like holographic women. Regardless I would like my credits paid back in a timely manner."

"Don’t you worry your pointed little ears over it.”

“Tsk. My ears have nothing to do with it and besides, how could they worry?"

“Illya it’s just a saying, I didn’t mean it literally.”

Kuryakin huffed,”Why can you not speak English plainly instead of riddling it with your ridiculous sayings and idioms?”

“And puns,” Solo added,” Don’t forget those."

“Perish the thought. You still have not told me why you speak this way."

“Because it’s fun doing it.”

“What is so fun about not communicating in simple English?”

“Because it annoys you,” Napoleon  grinned.

It was that smile that captivated every female on the station, and even sometimes males like the surly Kuryakin found himself disarmed by his partner’s charms.

 

As they entered the Command Center there was a flurry of activity as agents and technicians monitored the many stations that lined the walls of the room. The blue lights of the displays glowed as their hands moved constantly while touching the screens, checking settings, making adjustments. They had to be ever vigilant.

Waverly sat at his his own console towards the far side of the command center, where an immense shielded window gave him a view of the expanse of space and at the moment what remained of the moon.

It looked like a great grey pie from which someone had taken a large bite. The moon had been partly demolished in the previous war with the Krafthaus. Nearly a million people living there had been wiped out.

Earth would have been next had it not been for UNCLE and the combined battle force formed by the many survivors whose worlds had suffered at the hand of the enemy. They dealt the Krafthaus a final blow that sent them packing, scattered throughout the universe as they were useless without their leader.

Waverly sat at his own controls like a captain at the helm in his high backed chair; he turned it round as Solo and Kuryakin approached.

Their superior was a furry being, with deep set brown eyes peering out from a face that had no distinguishable features. There was a barely perceptible canine-like nose, and a mouth of course. He had lips, somewhere under all that fur. He was rather bushy, though well groomed, his true likeness remained hidden. He stroked his beard for a moment, as if lost in thought.

He was clothed in a loose fitting jumpsuit made of a cloth called English tweed; he’d become accustomed the fabric while working at the United Coalition of Planets in New London as a liaison for U.N.C.L.E. years ago.

Waverly took a puff from the mouthpiece of a hookah-like contraption that sat at his console; the scent emanating from it was different to everyone as it dissipated in the air like a wisp of smoke. No one actually smoked anymore as it was a disgusting habit; the pipe that he used merely contained a liquid with a flavor that he favored and it was harmless. It was merely annoying to those who didn't like they scent they associated with it.  Since he was in charge, no one dared complain and learned to tolerate it.

Kuryakin twitched his nose, trying not to sneeze, as to him it smelled like wet Earth dog, a creature he detested wholeheartedly as he’d been attacked by a pack of them as a child, while surviving in the ruins of his home city during the war.  He finally found his courage and became the hunter, eventually turning the table on the beasts and killing them for food when it was scarce. That was a lifetime ago, though the memories of their snarling faces stayed with him.  

Thanks to his mother’s genes he had an exceptionally youthful appearance, even though he was nearly 100 years old. Most people on Earth lived a longer lifespan thanks to science, but in Kuryakin’s case it was pure genetics.

“Well done gentlemen,” Waverly said, finally looking up from his files as he greeted his top agents.  

To his right stood someone who was obviously not human  and his face was unfamiliar to Solo and Kuryakin.

He was of medium complexion, his hair slicked back was a black as the sky though it resembled feathers more than hair. His brow protruded, creating an almost beak like extension above his nose. His eyes were a brilliant yellow, making them look quite menacing. Overall, he had rather hawkish features, as his face could only be compared to that extinct Earth raptor.

“This is Zylyn, Commander of the Intergalactic Star Cruiser Protector,” Waverly spoke.” He has some rather disturbing news...if you will sir, repeat what you just told me?”

Zylyn’s voice was deep but clear as he spoke. “While making a standard patrol run to Mars our sensors detected a massing of ships on the planet’s farside. We were able to capture one of their scouts and it was manned by a Gamoran drone. After accessing its thoughts with the help of one of our telepathic technicians, we learned they are in league with T.H.R.U.S.H. and are intending to destroy this station, freeing them to attack Earth.”

Both agents glanced at each other, but then Kuryakin looked up and he squinted looking out at the stars.

Suddenly ship after ship appeared in the distance, silhouetted against the remnants of the moon.

“I am afraid they are here,” he pointed and all heads turned to see the arrival of the enemy.

Waverly spun round in his chair. “What the deuce!”

He slammed his paw on a red button, setting off a klaxon alarm. Light panels lining the ceiling began to flash a myriad of colors as the warning blared throughout the station. Picking up his microphone; he barked into it.

”Attention, we are facing imminent attack. Communications notify all stations on the planet for Earth forces to stand ready. We are at high alert. I repeat this is not a drill. Red alert!

A protective panel lowered, covering the viewing window above their heads.

“Mister Solo, Mister Kuryakin, you know what to do.”

They turned on their heels, dashing from the Command Center, heading for the Security Section where their defense system was located.

Before they made it, a different alarm sounded.

“Warning Warning, there has been a perimeter breach, perimeter breach in Sections four, five and eight.” It was the voice of the assistant to Mr. Waverly, her name was Lisa Rogers and she was as deadly a human as she was beautiful.

Suddenly Solo and Kuryakin found themselves cut off as shimmering forms solidified in front of them.

They were Gamorans.

An asexual species standing close to seven feet tall; their exposed skin was a sickly shade of dark grey though they were clothed in a dull metallic armor. They had large bulbous heads with oval shaped eyes that were completely black. Long antennae protruded from their heads, rubbing together and admitting a high pitched sound that was apparently their form of communication. They had pincers for hands and strapped to their forearms were elongated torpedo-like blasters.

As one of them outstretched its arm and prepared to fire, Kuryakin tossed a clear glass ball; when it hit the floor it burst, creating a smoke screen.

Napoleon and Illya dove, one to the right the other to the left, both firing their modified Walther PPZ laser guns in the direction of where creatures were presumably standing.

Despite the smoke screen their aim was deadly accurate and the invaders disintegrated in the blue beams emitted from the agent’s weapons.

Other skirmishes took place throughout the station but luckily each time the Gamorans were defeated.

Still there were casualties, and those injured managed, amidst the chaos, to find their way to the Medical Suite where they could be quickly treated so they could jump right back into the fray and defend the station.

Napoleon and Illya arrived at their destination; there Solo shouted his orders to those on duty, while his partner sat himself in front of the console for the shield array.

Quickly flicking switch after switch and turning dials he called out, “I am recalibrating the shields to modulate, changing the frequency at which the signal is emitted. It should keep their soldiers from being able to get through again.”

Solo half listened as he took over one of the weapons, firing torpedoes containing negative energy photons, that when coming in contact with a target, would cause it to collapse into itself and vaporize. Still these things were moving too damn fast.

Seated beside Solo was the fiery red haired human, Agent Dancer. She was dressed in a skin tight metallic silver jumper, its front zipper pulled down enough to reveal her ample cleavage. Her aim was deadly as she fired a laser weapon that was a hundred times more powerful than an agent’s gun.

The blue beam it emitted hit one drone after the other, but there were just too many of them and they were moving at an incredible speed. At this rate the station would be overwhelmed and next would come the Earth.

 

On their monitors a different ship came into view.

“Don’t hit it,” Napoleon shouted,”That’s Captain Zylyn in the Protector!!” A collective cheer resonated among the agents.

  
  


The 2,000 foot long cruiser resembled an old Earth submarine, with two struts that arced out from either side of the main body of the ship. Those were the powerful quantum drive engines, making the Protector capable of sustained speeds in excess of mark 15, and sprints of up to mark 20. It boasted a crew of nearly 600 beings.

Napoleon called for a communications channel. “Open Channel D -Defender.”

“This is Zylyn.”

“Solo here. Captain what are you doing? I need you to defend the station.”

“We have to destroy the mothership; it’s just coming round from behind the moon. If we take it out, it will stop the others...the Gamorans have a hive mentality and won’t be able to function without it. As soon as it clears the moon, aim everything you’ve got at it, full power. I’m going to ram it,” Zylyn shouted, his voice filled with filled with stubborn determination.

“But what of you Captain and your crew?” Illya called out.

“I’ve transferred helm control to me. My crew was evacuated to the station and are safe. Now please, we can take the Gamora out but we have to do it now!”

Without hesitation, agents did as they were told and aimed their laser cannons and torpedoes at the target as soon as it appeared.

 

The mothership came into full view, everyone watched as the star cruiser set itself on its collision course for the  immense blue sphere as it moved closer.

Though the Protector was being fired upon, its shields held. They had to hold…

The Gamoran drone ships continued to fire on the station and it rocked from the impacts, sending people flying against the walls and to the floors. Nonessential personnel had been evacuated to Earth through the gate but there were still over twelve hundred beings on board. If the Gamorans destroyed the station, it would mean the end of U.N.C.L.E. and the planet below with its billions of innocent inhabitants.

“Our shields are failing,” Illya shouted, though his voice remained calm. He rose from his chair and sat at another console, joining his compatriots at firing upon the mothership, while Dancer continued to fight off the attacking drones.

As the Protector plunged into the mothership, there was an immense but silent orange explosion that lit up the star filled sky. It was done.

The drone's attack on the station came to a sudden stop and they floated aimlessly in space. There was no one to give them orders.

Dancer and the others picked them off one by one until there was nothing left but space junk.

“We should get a clean up crew out there, “she said as she leaned back in her chair with a sigh.

U.N.C.L.E. had won the day, thanks to the bravery of Captain Zylyn; his crew lived to mourn his loss but they along with everyone else would celebrate his selfless heroism.

Still, the battle was over, but not the war. T.H.R.U.S.H. would be back one way or another to either subjugate or destroy humankind.

Solo too leaned back in his chair, breathing deeply; he rubbed his temples as they were throbbing.

Illya stepped up behind him, resting his hand on his friend’s shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze.

“Earth is safe again for now,” he said. “We must honor Zylyn for his sacrifice.”

“Amen to that comrade,” Napoleon patted the back of Illya’s hand.

“Darling,” Agent Dancer leaned forward in her chair, letting Solo get a nice view of her cleavage. “You look like you could use a good rubdown.”

Napoleon cast a sly glance as he smiled at her.”Sounds enticing. How about my place at 21:00?”

“Mmmm dreamy. I’ll be there. I have a new pheromone laced massage oil.” She stepped away, greeting her partner, Agent Mark Slate, with a hug.

“Easy luv, the arm took a hit from a Gamoran and it’s a bit tender right now. It’ll be good as new in a few ticks.”

Kuryakin’s ears wiggled as he rolled his eyes before he leaned towards Solo, whispering in his ear.

“We just fought off an invading hoard of T.H.R.U.S.H-controlled Gamorans and that’s all you can think about?” Did you not forget your dinner date with the receptionist _Omarịchan_?”

Solo looked at his timepiece.“That’s at 17:30. I’ll be fine,” he smiled.

“Napoleon my friend, you are incorrigible.”

“Ain’t it the truth,” he smirked wickedly.

.

 

A/N lot’s of homages here, Deep Space 9, Galaxy Quest, Star Wars, Star Trek, Space 1999, the classic B movie 'This Island Earth'...I think that’s all of them. Also some references from the the online MFU Chronology for the 'Krafthaus.'

 


End file.
